


degausser

by wastelandfrenzy



Series: The Hourglass [2]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blackwell Academy (Life is Strange), Explicit Language, Gen, Gun Violence, Recreational Drug Use, Sean is the worst influence and should never be allowed around children, Vortex Club, depictions of violence, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21543853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastelandfrenzy/pseuds/wastelandfrenzy
Summary: A new power emerges in Arcadia Bay, and the universe pushes back.--Prequel to The Hourglass set in Nathan's junior year at Blackwell.
Series: The Hourglass [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/663101
Comments: 13
Kudos: 18





	degausser

**Author's Note:**

> YO IS THIS FANDOM STILL LIVING? 
> 
> I had a handful of people mention that they'd like to see what happened to Nathan when he initially discovered his powers so here's a one-shot based on it that shows us some glimpses of the transition between the bullied, timid Nathan we see in BtS and the cocky aggressive one we see in LiS.
> 
> here have a playlist, it's all over the place just like Nathan's emotions: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL0c7NhwbQl9ZLWKhtOyoqfp5Jmu3UIjQE  
> aaand I also made a character aesthetic: https://imgur.com/hC7Ze45

* * *

Nathan Prescott has no reason to think that his junior year at Blackwell will be any better than the last. His father drops him off at campus that morning on his way to work, and Nathan's stomach twists in on itself as the echoes of his departing words ring in his ears.

_Make a better impression this time around. Don't embarrass us._

When he approaches the bubbling fountain in the courtyard he almost expects to see Drew North barreling toward him, ready to berate him with a sneer and a thick arm sending him sprawling to the gum-spotted sidewalk. 

But he won't. Drew graduated, he remembers, and he lets out a heavy breath. 

Bricks, red and dark, make up the walls of the academy and they're the same as the ones he builds in his mind to compartmentalize. To separate. To hide. 

The first person he sees is Victoria Chase. She's standing next to the bulletin board and the flyers create a whirl of color around her. They'd gotten to know each other a little better after their work on The Tempest last year, but he's still surprised when she lifts her arm and waves him over, gold bracelet winking in the sun. 

"Hey, you signing up for the fall production again?" she asks. He recognizes her knife-pressed capris from the designer catalog his mother was flipping through at the breakfast table.

A _nd find some better extra-curriculars. Those drama classes weren't doing you any favors._

"Not this year," he says.

"Me neither. I'm setting my sights higher this semester. Never hurts to get a headstart on senior year, right?" She brandishes a yellow flyer advertising the Vortex Club. "You should consider it. The party budget is insane, and with the right people in charge it could really do wonders for social status."

"How'd you get in so fast?"

"Well, I'm not in yet, but it's only a matter of time. I'm laying the groundwork. You know, I didn't see you all summer. Did you go on vacation?"

"Yeah," he lies. "This shithole town is so boring."

"God, I know. I was stuck here."

Courtney and Taylor call to her from the front doors and she tells them she'll be right there.

"I thought you didn't like them," he says after a beat.

"It's not about liking them. It's about securing my place." She smooths down the front of her blouse.

"They have pull in the Vortex Club, and my dad says there's no point in hanging out with losers who have nothing to offer."

He doesn't answer, thinking that it sounds an awful lot like what his own dad would say. Maybe they should be friends, he thinks bitterly. 

Victoria seems to recognize something in his face because she says, "Besides, it's not like they haven't been using me, too. You can bet they were banking off my discount twenty-four seven when I worked at Nordstrom all summer. They're all too happy to copy my homework or borrow my jewelry or use my house to impress the freshmen they met at OSU." 

"You coming?" Courtney calls to her again.

"I'll see you after econ, okay?" Victoria says.

As she leaves Nathan wonders what it is she thinks he can offer her. 

\--

_He climbs into his father's SUV after his last class of the day sophomore year, awash with shame. His mouth is bleeding in the corner and his pant legs are skidded with black from the asphalt and it only takes one look at his father to know that he's seen the whole thing._

_Seen the way he'd gotten his books knocked into his face. Seen him get shoved. Seen the way everybody laughed._

_Sean's forehead wrinkles at the sight of his bloody mouth and for one achingly desperate moment Nathan thinks he might do something. Get out of his SUV and go into the principal's office, maybe. Insist on speaking with the other kid's parents. Get him suspended. Stand up for Nathan._

_"This is your own fault, you know. You haven't been listening to a word I tell you."_

_"I have!" Nathan protests._

_"Don't talk to me in that sniveling tone," he says. The car shifts into gear smoothly and Sean takes off out of the parking lot. Nathan's shirt sticks to his back and he wishes he could turn on the air, but he knows better than to move._

_"I want to hear you say it. Tell me why this keeps happening."_

_It was totally delusional for Nathan to think that he might have shown some sympathy for him and the words burst from his mouth before he can stop them. As soon as they escape he wishes he could shove them back between his teeth and swallow them. "Because you put everybody in town out of a job, that's why!"_

_There's a sharp snap and a jolting, tender pain up the side of his face from the back of Sean's hand, right in his already cut lip. It was the hand with his ring on it, the heavy family heirloom, and Nathan knows he aimed for his injury on purpose. His arm had moved so fast he barely even saw it move. He feels a fresh gush of warmth from his lip but stifles the urge to make any noise or acknowledgment of pain. He'd only do it again._

_He should have recognized his father's mood. Should have controlled himself better._

_"Tell me_ why _this keeps happening."_

_"Because I show weakness," Nathan spits._

_"Yes. Because you show weakness." It was his father's mantra. He'd repeated it too many times for Nathan to count. "Show them you're a Prescott. Show them that they can't push you around. You have wealth and status, Nathan, and there's no reason that you can't use those to your advantage in life."_

\--

On the news it shows footage outside Sean's office building, a large crowd protesting his announcement to move forward with the development of Pan Estates. Men and women stand solemnly outside on the front steps with posterboard and signs depicting their grievances. 

"This is old Native American land that Prescott's trying to build on," a protester says into the camera. "It should be preserved, not torn up. What is it going to take for these heartless corporations to see that their greed and bottomless desire for monetary gain has gone too far?"

Nathan expects his father to be in a terrible mood but he only looks pleased at the attention he's gaining. "Can you believe this shit?" his father motions to the news with a malicious chuckle at the citizens posted outside. 

He can't wait for senior year when he gets to move into the dorms and out of the house for good. 

At school he is desperate for a distraction so he accepts Victoria Chase's offer to hang out with some Vortex Club members after class.

"It's not an official meeting," she informs him, popping her gum. "But these are the people that decide the next batch of new members."

There's not many of them. Besides the two of them he sees Hayden, Courtney, Taylor, Logan, and Juliet. He hasn't seen much of these people outside of last year's play, but Victoria's endorsement seems to help. Hayden claps him on the back and says, "How's it, Caliban?"

They hike a ways into the woods behind the school. The others seem to know exactly where their destination is, and it's not long before the trees break up into a clearing. Glaring evidence of their previous meetings scattered around; beer cans, candy wrappers, names cut into the bark of the trees, the remnants of a hammock previously strung between two trunks. 

Hayden has portable speakers and Logan unzips his gym bag and pulls out two six-packs. Victoria produces a handful of vodka mini-bottles, and if Nathan had known he would have taken something out of the liquor cabinet at home. 

"Did you hear about Emerald Hall getting snaked out from underneath us?" Juliet asks, popping the tab on one of the beers.

"No!" Logan says with disbelief. 

Victoria twists off the cap to one of her little vodkas and takes a sip. She passes it over to Nathan with a pinched face. "What's the hall for?"

"It's the venue we were going to rent out for the Vortex Halloween party next month," says Courtney. 

"We were outbid by a lousy three hundred bucks by some goth wedding that _had_ to book Halloween night," Juliet complains. 

"Do you smoke, man?" 

Nathan turns and notices Hayden holding out a joint with smoke curling delicately from the end. "Uh, not really," he answers, and Logan reaches out to take it instead.

"RIP to the best night of the year," says Taylor.

"Isn't there space on campus for a party?" Victoria asks. 

"We've tried that before."

"Hard fail," Juliet says. "Nobody wants to spend Halloween at school."

"Besides," Taylor continues, "the kind of party we're trying to have? Not gonna fly on campus."

"Too bad the mill burned down." Hayden's eyes are already glazed and lethargic.

"Oh, my God, seriously, that would have been the creepiest place _ever_ to have it. There's nowhere abandoned left around here that hasn't been condemned and bulldozed," Taylor says. 

Logan burps and crushes his empty beer can, cracking into another one right away.

Nathan is on his third gulp of vodka and is desperate to maintain whatever spell that is casting him in a positive light to his classmates. He thinks to offer them something. "My family owns this property in the woods with an old-ass barn just sitting there. Both creepy and abandoned."

"For real?" 

"Yeah. You guys could come take a look at it to make sure there's enough room if you want." His father _had_ mentioned something about building an emergency storm shelter underneath the barn, but it wouldn't be happening anytime soon.

"That sounds sick," Hayden exclaims amongst the general murmur of affirmations to this plan. "You sure you don't want this?" He offers the joint one more time.

"Fuck it, why not." 

The smoke tickles and he coughs on the exhale when he passes it back, inwardly marveling at how fascinating everything becomes after several minutes. Evening sun burns golden through the trees and his tongue tastes sharp from the vodka. Victoria keeps touching his arm when he speaks. Juliet takes out a tube of hand lotion to slather across her arms and Nathan smells cherry blossoms. The music is chill and drifting and he feels the warm glow of something like acceptance. 

\--

When Nathan comes home that day he doesn't realize he is drunk until his foot catches on the edge of a potted fern in the foyer, sending it to the tile with a crash that echoes, and his arms flail as he tries to regain his balance. 

Sean appears immediately at the top of the stairs and takes in the scene with ever-critical eyes. Dark soil spilled across the white. Nathan's face, presumably flushed; he feels warm around the ears. He can scarcely breathe, wondering how to proceed. He wonders if he'll be in trouble. 

"Getting to know some kids from class, have you?" he guesses correctly.

"Yes, sir." He winces at how it comes out slurred like _yessir_. When his father doesn't say anything, he continues. "I got into the Vortex Club."

"Did you?"

"Yeah." They'd extended an official invitation to him and Victoria after their hang-out in the woods. Juliet was the only other initiate and she'd been accepted into the club as well.

"That sounds just fine, son." His tone is pleased and he retreats down the ash wood-paneled gallery back to his office.

Nathan marvels at the lack of repercussions for getting wasted by four-thirty on a Wednesday afternoon.

\--

"You have the most perfect taste in clothes it's disgusting." Victoria stands critically amidst the linens, the starched collars and the silk ties, the unlined evening jackets he wore in the summer when his father takes him to the country club. "This closet is like, my dream aesthetic."

It isn't the first time a girl's been in his room, but it certainly is the first that Victoria's been there.

"Don't tell me your mom picks out any of this stuff."

"No," he protests. "I know how to dress myself, for fuck's sake. That's only the formal shit, though." 

She sweeps her fingertips across the slacks. "So where's your casuals?"

"Folded. Over there."

She cracks open a drawer and pulls out a plain long-sleeved shirt. "Cashmere," She laughs, shaking her head. "So casual. Oooh, can I borrow this?" she asks excitedly, snagging a different shirt off one of the hangers. It's a button-up, cream-colored, with a little embroidered logo in the bottom hem.

He nods with a shrug because he doesn't really give a shit and wonders not for the first time what exactly she's doing here. At school he tries to mimic her unflinching confidence. He likes her boldness and he tells her so.

She smiles. "I wouldn't think you'd need any tips."

"Why d'you say that?"

"Hmm, I dunno," she teases, picking up a watch from his dresser—Swiss quartz. "Amazing style and badass photography? This crazy house and your name slapped across half the town? You're right, nothing to be confident about at all."

"So which of those things are you hoping to bank off of?" Once again, he regrets the words after they've already come out. 

With a roll of her eyes, she drops the watch. She doesn't appear to take offense and correctly refers to their conversation outside the school about using people. "I know you're not dumb enough to group yourself in with Courtney and Taylor. I actually _like_ you."

Before he can answer a bang of the front door sounds from the foyer, echoing up the stairs and down the hall, and a thundering yell: " _Nathan!_ "

In a heart-stopping instant he remembers the press meeting he was supposed to have attended that afternoon; Sean had donated a new wing to the town's library and needed to make a big show of it for the papers. He was certain there would be a barrage of missed calls on his phone. 

Victoria starts at the noise and Nathan doesn't have time to gauge her reaction before he's shoving her toward the adjoining bathroom, hissing at her to stay quiet. He bursts out of his bedroom and into the hallway, hoping that she won't be able to hear them through two closed doors.

"Where the fuck were you?"

"The Vortex Club needed me for a meeting and I lost track of time." He tries to play off of his social success, remembering his need to maintain the Prescott image.

"How do you think that looked today, you missing from a family portrait for the paper?"

"It won't happen again." 

He could try to keep defending himself, but he knows his father and he hates excuses. It's better to go straight for contrition. A straightforward statement regarding his future behavior. Sean's hand lashes out and he's gripping his arm and he's bruising him and dragging him up close to his face to make sure he hears his next words. Nathan can see the pockmarks on his cheek.

"You ever pull another stunt like this and you will regret it, do you understand me?"

"Yes—" 

The end of his sentence is cut off as he releases him with enough force to send him into the paneling, the back of his head snapping hard against the wall. Finger marks throb in his arm and Sean raises his hand as if he will hit him and Nathan _hates_ how it makes him flinch slightly, how his face crinkles in anticipation of the blow but the humiliation is apparently enough for Sean because he lowers his hand. 

He doesn't crack him in the face too often. Too many marks. 

When Nathan goes back into his room Victoria creeps out of the bathroom, apprehension written all over her face. She's heard everything and fills in the blanks herself. She pushes the hair off of her forehead. 

"I—I didn't know. I had no idea." She says this like it explains everything about Nathan—his insecurities and his anger and how he withdraws into himself.

Her eyes are wide and he looks away before he finds pity shining in them.

"I won't tell anyone. I swear."

She must understand that he doesn't want to talk about it because she moves on gracefully like nothing happened at all. They go out for tacos and she talks and he listens and bless her, she doesn't make him feel like a freak or some kind of kicked puppy. She talks to him like normal and it's the biggest relief he's felt all week.

\--

His birthday is a stately, horrid affair. 

The dining room of the Prescott estate has been transformed. Garish centerpieces the color of a wine stain, a five-piece orchestra, stiff suits, and tinkling laughter. The room is filled with business associates of Sean's, relatives that he never sees, and caterers dressed to blend in with the decor. 

"You remember Mr. Richardson, don't you, son?" Sean gestures to an elderly man in a brown suit with long, thin nostrils and smudged eyeglasses.

"Of course," Nathan says dutifully, never having laid eyes on the man before today. He gives the man a firm, businesslike handshake. Just the way he'd been taught.

"What sophisticated taste you have for a young person," says Mr. Richardson, glancing around. "I quite like the addition of a sushi bar. Very modern and hip."

Nathan nods politely, as if every detail regarding the party hadn't been his mother's doing.

"But I wonder, where might your school acquaintances be at a prestigious event such as this?"

"Not to worry, we've had our celebrations earlier in the week." It's the same lie he told his father, so as to avoid the embarrassing conversation that he'd barely had anyone to invite.

"Ah, quite so, quite so."

Sean gives Nathan a glare that tells him to step it up a bit.

"Mr. Richardson runs a consulting firm," Sean says with another urging glance toward his son.

"Sure, I've read all about your ventures in the paper. You're something of a celebrity around here," Nathan schmoozes. "I understand my father's contacted your firm to help him dip his toe into residential real estate in the coming months."

Nathan looks to his father to affirm he's pleased with this little speech. 

"Why, yes! Pan Estates, it's called. Very ambitious, your father. It's just the perfect step to take now that he's finished the loose ends of liquidating the Arcadia Bay Marine Corporation. Quite a stir that caused." He chuckles with a wet sound in his throat. "But these estate developments will no doubt propel the Prescott Foundation forward with a vehemence."

"It is a seller's market right now, after all," Nathan says. 

They spend the next two minutes bullshitting about equity and Mr. Richardson's eyes flash behind his glasses and he commends Sean for having such a business-savvy son. "I couldn't get my own sons to hold a conversation about anything besides television games when they were your age."

 _Maybe you should have tried beating it out of them,_ he thinks. _I hear it works wonders._

"Well, enjoy the party, Mr. Richardson."

\--

As the festivities begin to wind to a close Nathan's eyes nearly bulge out of his head when Kristine comes waltzing into the dining hall just like she'd never left. 

It's been two months since he's seen her.

She's cut her hair short, shorter than their mother would have ever allowed. She is deeply tanned with a ring through her nose, and her t-shirt says something in Portuguese that Nathan can't read.

"Kris!" he cries and crushes her against the front of his suit. She smells sharp, like some kind of spicy incense and it tickles his nose. 

She laughs and throws her arms around him. Nathan sees Sean frowning sternly over Kris's shoulder. The hall has thinned out and the caterers have begun to clear the tables. 

"What's all this, then?" she asks, motioning to the decorations and the centerpieces. The orchestra dismantles and packs away their instruments.

"My birthday party," he answers glumly.

She raises a thick blonde eyebrow. "Really? Because it looks more like a hostage situation. Funny how your birthday looks so much like a cocktail party for his associates."

He shrugs. "Sean's efficient if nothing else." He tries to sound cool by using his father's first name like Kris does. "Killing two birds with one stone. When did you get home? Why didn't you call?"

"My number's deactivated. I came to surprise you for your birthday, but we'll get to that later," she says dismissively. She plucks a salmon roll from the sushi bar behind her with two fingers and pops it into her mouth. "For now, ditch the tie and the cufflinks and we'll find something fun. Some live music or something. My treat. I'll be out front."

\--

Kristine finds a local band playing in the next town over at some restaurant/bar combo that he wasn't familiar with. She'd insisted it was her treat, but Nathan paid for their burgers and sodas while she was in the bathroom. 

"Aren't you growing into quite the gentleman?" she laughs when she catches him. "I wish I could have had a proper gift to give you, but the plane tickets wiped me clean out," she says, making him even more glad that he'd covered the tab. Nathan knew that their father cut her off in an attempt to force her to come home. Sean didn't know Kris very well if he thought money would lure her to move back in. Kris would rather sleep under a bridge than ask him for something he could hold over her head. 

"I don't need anything. It's just cool that you're here."

His sister had transformed into a seasoned globetrotter since she fled from home. Her emails to him were long-winded and filled with places and names of food that he'd scarcely heard of, dazzling accounts of exotic wilderness from distant lands and he always felt depressed after reading them, like he'd been woken forcibly from a wistful dream. 

When he comes home later that night the sound of the front door echoes in the foyer and he hears his father call him. His parents are sitting in the study for a nightcap, on opposite sides of the room. She has a paperback novel and he has a financial journal. He expects them to talk about Kristine. 

"You did well tonight." Sean sits in an armchair in the glow of a little desk lamp on the end table next to him and barely looks up from his papers. "At the party."

Nathan tries to say thank you but ends up clearing his throat instead. His mother flips a page in her book.

Sean tosses something metallic in a long arch that Nathan reaches out to catch. A car key.

"Happy birthday. It's out front."

\--

"No shit? I wish my dad would give me a car. I have to drive the family station wagon whenever I want to go somewhere." 

It's a cloudy Thursday and the Vortex Club stands around his new truck in the parking lot at lunch. Nathan's wheels have pushed him to celebrity status at school. Full-sized cab, fully loaded, and bright cherry red with four-wheel drive.

"Looks like that backseat's big enough to score you some action," Logan says with approval, pulling open the door. 

"Shit!" Hayden exclaims when he looks in the back. "What size subs are those?"

"Fifteens," Nathan says smugly.

" _Fuck_ , we're gonna rattle windows from a mile away. What are we waiting for, get your ass behind the wheel!" Hayden says.

They pile inside and Nathan drives them to the barn. Juliet sits on Zachary's lap in the backseat and they block most of the rearview mirror. Logan and Victoria squish beside them and Hayden calls shotgun. 

"It's massive in here." Victoria leans forward between Nathan and Hayden and punches some buttons on the stereo. "This setup is fucking nice. You're like, the only junior in the whole class with his own car. When did you get your license?"

"I've had it for a while. My dad's cool about that shit."

Hayden has the aux cord plugged into his phone. "Show off those subs and crank this _up_ , I wanna feel that bass in my very soul. Or at least my ribcage."

Layers of gray clouds stack up on the horizon. They roll down the windows and laugh at the other drivers that roll theirs up in a poor attempt to block out the ridiculous speakers. Nathan feels warm wind on his face and the familiar smell of Victoria's cigarette is almost a comfort by now. It's the happiest he's felt in a long time. 

They clamber out of the truck once they reach the abandoned barn in the woods. Everyone is in a giddy mood from the music and the danger of sneaking off campus during lunch. Zachary jumps out last and rushes towards Juliet in a mock-football stance. She squeals and he throws her over his shoulder. When he spins her she cries out, "I'm gonna hurl, put me down!" 

"Nice panties," Logan smirks.

"Take a look at this place, you guys," Victoria says, wading through some overgrown grass. "Does it have electricity?"

"No, but we can get a generator," Nathan tells her. He unlocks the padlock and swings open the wooden door. "Well, you won't need to waste any money on fake cobweb decorations, that's for sure."

"It's really spooky," she says.

There's not much inside; old crates and a rusted out tractor in the corner. Crumbling papers in a trunk, scratchy rope, and hay bales left to rot.

"Nice call, Prescott." Hayden takes out a spliff from behind his ear and lights it.

"Watch it, bro. Don't set the place on fire," Zachary protests.

"We can put lounge furniture here," Juliet thinks out loud, "and the refreshment table over here. D'you think we could fit some dry ice into the budget? We could put it up in that loft and the smoke would spill over the sides like a curtain effect."

"Budget won't be a problem," Nathan scoffs, high on his success. "I'll cover any deficit."

He starts to understand the kind of situations that his father has been preparing him for. All the work talk and the flattering words always contributed to a greater good and he watches the effect his promises of grandeur have on them. _Don't be afraid to use your wealth and status in your favor_.

\--

On Saturday Nathan's in his room working on an essay for Lit class and he almost doesn't notice the raised voices and the distant slam of a door. He stops typing and twists in his desk chair. 

"—Not so unreasonable, this was always on the table."

It sounds like Kris, and he gets up to open his door a crack. Voices drift down the hallway from the direction of his father's home office.

"I have grounds to take legal action over this."

A harsh scoff. "Don't be stupid. How do you think you'll be paying for the legal fees? With what money? Affairs of this nature are expensive."

"You'd know all about it, wouldn't you?"

"Watch it."

Nathan creeps further toward the office, eavesdropping. He was sure that Kris would have hopped on a plane by now and he can't think why she would still be hanging around.

" _Everything_ is about money with you," she says.

"Get down off your soapbox and take a look in the mirror. Money is the only reason you're here. I don't buy this sentimental bullshit for a second."

"It doesn't matter what you think—"

"I need to get back to work."

"I'm not leaving 'til—"

"You are. Now. I won't say it again."

Kris bursts out of his office. Her eyes glisten with tears and she uses her shirt sleeve to scrub at her face as she stalks down the stairs and ignores Nathan standing there. He feels like a kid again, listening to his sister and his father argue while he can't find anything to say to make it better. 

He hurries down the stairs after her and catches the front door before it slams in his face. 

"Wait, Kris."

Her shoes tap down the front steps and she doesn't slow down for him. "Not now."

"Don't shut me out like we're still kids. Please."

She looks over her shoulder, eyebrows pinched together. "What is it you want?"

"I just wanna talk to you. I know how he gets." He shifts from one foot to the other. "Let me drive you somewhere."

When she acquiesces he races back to get his keys as if she might change her mind if he's not quick enough. 

Kris climbs into his passenger seat. He starts the engine and sees a new wave of tears build up in her eyes and she fidgets angrily, filling the space with her pent-up energy. She takes it out on his truck, punching the cigarette lighter in, smushing the button to turn the stereo off, snapping the air vents shut. 

"Where should we go?" he asks.

"Anywhere not here."

He reverses the truck and looks up at the window to his father's office. The curtains are drawn. Driving away, he watches the shadows of the trees play over Kris's face. She blinks and tears spill over and drip onto her blue t-shirt. She always cries; Nathan remembers that about her. If she was happy, embarrassed, or if she was mad—and in this case she seems furious. 

It's a clear morning and most of Arcadia Bay is out enjoying the weekend. They pass bicycles and picnics and large families crammed into minivans.

"How come you're still in town?" he ventures. 

She gives a wet sniffle. "Trying to get what's rightfully mine."

He waits for her to elaborate and she doesn't. He cuts the next turn a little too sharply and she grips the handle above the window. "Sorry," he says, but it falls flat.

Her whole body shudders as she lets out a gust of air that makes her bangs fly up. "No, I'm sorry. I don't mean to..." she recalls his words, "shut you out. You obviously didn't do anything wrong and here I am acting like a bitch to you. He just makes me—" She breaks off with an angry grunt and punches the dashboard in front of her. "So mad!" The glove compartment falls open and several papers fly out. Kris slaps at it twice before it will latch. 

"You're telling me. I still have to live with him."

"You remember those platinum earrings of Grandma Prescott's?" she asks suddenly. "The ones with the sapphires?"

He shrugs, bewildered at the subject change. "I dunno."

"Well, they're the only things she left me and _Sean_ says I can't have them. Regardless of what's in her will, apparently. He claims they were only meant to be bequeathed to me if I ever got married and it's not true. He's just trying to punish me for leaving."

Nathan thinks back to what she'd said in the house about taking legal action. Sean was right, she'd never be able to pull it off without money. He wants more than anything to help her, but their parents would notice if thousands of dollars suddenly vanished from his account. He isn't even sure if they'd let him withdraw an amount like that without getting clearance from Sean first. 

"What about mother?"

" _Mother_ doesn't care a single whit about anybody in that house besides herself. If he wasn't such a dick I'd almost feel sorry for Sean because she puts literally no effort into their marriage. Unless you count dialing the rental services for his parties. We're grown and raised now—she should get a fucking job." 

He's surprised at the harshness of her words; she doesn't usually speak like this. 

Something occurs to him. "I don't remember you and Grandma Prescott getting along very well." 

"We didn't," she says quietly. "I hated the old witch."

"So why do you give a shit about the earrings?"

She throws her hands in the air in a gesture that perfectly mirrors their father, but he's not going to piss her off further by pointing it out. "I was going to pawn them for cash, alright? I tried to play it off like they were to remember her by but Sean saw right through that. That's what pisses me off so badly. He was right." She slumps in the seat. "It's really tough out there, you know." 

A thorny knot lodges in his chest and he sifts his thoughts for a way to help. He opens his mouth to offer the envelope of bills he'd gotten from the bank after cashing a birthday check but she's already a step ahead of him.

"Don't even think about it," she says, sitting up straighter. "Taking care of me is not your responsibility. 

"I know, but I can still—"

"I'm not going to take any money from you."

Kris had always had his back when they were growing up and it kills him that he can't return the favor. She's been gone almost two months now but he can't bring himself to be angry at her for leaving him all by himself. If he could, he would have left by now, too. 

"Can you drop me at a friend's?" she asks.

The address she directs him to leads to a trailer park down by the beach. Small, and tucked away behind a gas station and a souvenir tourist shop. A mere smattering of trees and wire fence separated the rusted out mobile homes from the sand and the waves. 

She points and he parks beside a squat, rectangular trailer sitting flat on the ground. It was painted in cornflower blue, chipped and streaked with rust, and a girl with a dark complexion and fluorescent green fingernails sits in a busted lawn chair smoking a cigarette outside.

"I'll be around for a while longer. We'll hang out."

"I wish you'd let me help you," he says again.

She places her hand on the door latch and turns to him. "You do help. By being my brother and being here for me."

"That's a load of shit, Kris," he says bitterly. 

She gives him a sad smile and climbs out.

\--

He is in the library at school when it happens.

Between the slam of lockers and inane chatter, the squeak of rubber-soled shoes, the brightly-colored banners, and the thrum of the vending machine neons, he's had a bit of sensory overload and seeks the first quiet place he can find. 

He stands beneath the skylight window and searches the nonfiction shelves for a book he needs for his philosophy class and it hits him. He blinks and he's no longer in the library, a rush of wind and rain whipping him in the face.

Nathan falls to his knees in the sudden commotion and he realizes he's in the sand. On the beach. 

And he's in the middle of a storm.

Looming in the distance above him on a far cliff stands the lighthouse, only a silhouette and framed in magnificent clusters of lightning, branching across the sky in cold tendrils. It's unlike anything he's ever seen. 

There are no other people around him and he's wracking his brain to figure out how he's gotten to be down here all alone when he spots a familiar shape out in the water. He recognizes his father's yacht, distinctive along the line of the dark sea. He can't even remember the last time Sean had bothered to take the yacht out for anything, he'd been so consumed by work lately. 

The deck is lit up for a celebration with strings of glittering lights, the kind his mother gets from the rental service when they're hosting an event. Partygoers sprinkle across the deck like ants. He turns to look back at the town. Everything looks the same except for a giant tent with yellow and orange stripes blown up in the middle of the street in front of the diner. Dark clouds stretch down and skinny pine trees bend in half from the gusts of wind.

The tide begins to retreat rapidly. He almost doesn't notice it, but there's no mistaking the water receding toward the horizon. 

A force deeper than he can comprehend tugs at the ocean and it rises into a single colossal wave, all at once breathtaking and horrifying in its catastrophic potential. 

The dark unbroken tsunami glides across the water and swallows the yacht in one massive stroke. It surfaces and the lights on the deck flicker and blink out. It crashes and splinters against the cliff, and before he can wonder if his family is on that boat, it's over.

He's back in the library like it never happened. Everything is clear around him but the howling of the storm still rings in his ears. 

Concerned students crowd around him, people coming closer, pressing in on him and he hears a strangled cry that seems to be coming from his own throat. When a set of hands reaches for him he panics and shoves as hard as he can. It was a teacher, and he sees the man sprawled on the floor before he pushes past and flees.

\--

The school calls his parents. 

Nathan's been given an automatic day of suspension for shoving Mr. Irwin to the ground and nobody believes him when he says it was an accident. Ditching the rest of the school day hadn't helped his case. He suspects that Sean talked them out of a stricter punishment. His father defends him for things he would never expect. The incident probably won't make it into his file, but the principal recommends he see a counselor or a therapist.

"Honestly, Nathan, I don't know what's gotten into you," his mother says airily while she checks her lipstick in the rearview mirror. 

"Well, it stops now," Sean says, leaning on his horn when somebody merges into the lane in front of him. 

At home he searches for "arcadia bay tsunami" and feels stupid as he's typing it. After scrolling for nearly a half hour he comes up empty. The worst storm recorded in Arcadia Bay had been over seventeen years ago. They'd clocked in at almost two-hundred mile an hour winds, but no mention of a tsunami anywhere. 

He'd like to write it off as a weird dream but it had felt so _real_. And the random detail of his father's yacht had given the whole scenario a strange ring. 

The next morning he finds his mother sitting outside at the patio table with a slice of toast, half a grapefruit, and a Bloody Mary with a stick of celery poking out of the glass tumbler. 

"Has Dad taken the yacht out at all?"

"Oh, not for months." She reaches for her glass and a cluster of bracelets fall down her slim arm. "It's needed repairs since last March and he's only just gotten around to hiring somebody to fix it." She takes a delicate sip. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason." He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to leave.

"Funny you bring it up now."

He freezes, stomach churning. "Why?"

"He's hosting an event on it next Sunday." Her cool gaze flicks to his. "I thought you would know by now. The unveiling party for Pan Estates. If you miss another publicity shoot it'll be your head." She sets down her glass with an air of disapproval. 

"I didn't forget," he lies. 

"You'd better be on your way to see your father before it gets too late."

Nathan was meant to spend his day of suspension at work with Sean. _Might as well be learning something on your day off_ , his father told him. 

It's probably a coincidence that he dreamt of the yacht and he tries to put it out of his head. 

\--

Nathan and Sean finally leave the office for the day at a quarter 'til seven. 

"Don't think of it as a punishment," Sean had told him that morning. "Think of it as an opportunity to see what your future will hold."

Nathan didn't say anything and his father had tried again. "I know it's not always easy being a Prescott. This work might not look so exciting but the benefits that come along with it are more than worth it. I'm here to help you, son."

That afternoon he'd had to dodge texts from Hayden and Logan inviting him out after they got out of class. Probably they just wanted to ask him about his suspension, he thinks cynically. 

Now the evening shadows reach across the street with long fingers as they leave the building. It had been a boring day of sitting in on Sean's meetings and being delegated to trivial computer work. A man with scraggly dark hair and deep lines around his mouth had been sitting up against the bus station post and upon seeing them scrambles up to his feet. He looks like he hasn't shaved in several days and there is a desperation pouring from his eyes before he even opens his mouth to speak.

"Mr. Prescott, I've been trying to arrange a meeting with you for weeks."

Nathan slows automatically but his father keeps walking and the man pushes forward after him. "My name is—"

"I've been informed as to who you are," Sean cuts him off.

"Nobody I've gotten hold of at your office would schedule an appointment with you."

"And why do you think that is?" Sean says roughly, finally stopping on his way to the parking lot to look at the man in disgust. "Could it be because I don't take meetings with ex-fishermen from the docks?"

The man narrows his eyes. "I'm a father and a working man, same as yourself, and I would think you'd have five minutes to spare a conversation, man to man."

This fisherman dressed in flannel and thick boots had chosen the wrong tactic to appeal to his father by comparing them in such a way, Nathan thinks, but the man bravely plunders on.

"We were promised jobs, all of us," he insists. 

"Things change," Sean says, remarkably unbothered. It occurs to Nathan that this is one of the workers who'd been laid off when the Marine Corporation had been shut down. 

"I'm a single father and I've got two kids at home to feed," the man says, his voice cracking almost imperceptibly.

"I hear Walmart's always hiring."

"I've been working that rig for twenty-four years and you expect me to support my family on a single minimum wage income? I need the job that I was promised when this whole shitshow started! Construction on your housing development, desk job, warehouse, I'll take anything you have." 

"Your plight is not my fucking problem. I'll thank you to be on your way." He climbs into his Mercedes and tells Nathan he'll see him at home.

His father has fired many people over the years, as far as Nathan is concerned. He knows people are pissed off about it, but he'd never given it a thought until now. It hadn't affected Nathan. He'd never seen them come to find his father. Pleading. Talking about their families and where their next meal would come from. The man in front of him is broken, and Nathan can see it in his eyes. He thinks of Kristine and how she was driven away by their father's cruelty and before he can think he unlocks his truck and dives into the glove compartment for the envelope containing his birthday money. He's shoving it at the man on the sidewalk and registers shock on his grizzled face.

"What the hell's this?"

"Just take it, okay?"

Crisp green bills stick out of the envelope. "You think I'd take money from a _kid_? Don't insult me."

"What the hell do I need it for? Like you said, I'm a kid. Don't make this about pride." He shuffles his feet. "Think about your own kids. Will they eat or won't they? That's all this is."

The man hesitates, his internal struggle plain on his face and just as Nathan thinks he'll take the money he steels himself and hardens his voice. "Don't condescend to give me your pocket money. I need a steady income. Not a handout. How's that gonna look, anyway? Me taking cash from you. It's inappropriate."

He retreats to the bus stop and Nathan is forced to get into his own vehicle. Between his sister and this man, it seems like he's been bombarded with the harsh realities of money all at once. Namely, what it did to people when they didn't have enough of it. 

He cannot think of a single thing he wants to spend his birthday money on. He has all the camera equipment he could ever want. All the clothes, all the music and films, and the newest and fastest electronics. He's never wanted for anything material, and for the first time he begins to feel rather sick about it. 

\--

Three days pass before Nathan feels his nerves begin to settle into a manageable state. He still doesn't understand what happened in the library and the fear that he might be sucked back into that waking nightmare again is palpable. 

This isn't the first time he's gotten trouble at school, not by a long shot, so his parents take the administrators' advice and send Nathan to therapy. He wonders if they think it will help or if they think it will score them points with the principal. 

His therapist is a short man with square-tipped fingers and a bald spot. His name is Dr. Jacoby. He refers to the outburst at school as "the episode," and asks Nathan to walk him through his day. To tell him what he did before—what he'd been thinking about before it happened. Nathan doesn't mention dreaming about the storm on the beach, but he tells him about the sensory overload he'd experienced that day and tries to play it off that he's just strung out about classwork. He suggests some practical stress-relieving exercises to Nathan and advises him to get some rest. 

\--

Nathan is at the dinner table on Friday when his phone buzzes. It's Hayden: _ayy caliban we're going up to the lighthouse tonight you in?_

He glances up at his parents sitting ramrod straight in front of their entrees. He'd tried to bring up Kristine earlier and had gotten completely shut down. Her name was a forbidden topic. His mother's face is an impenetrable blank mask and he can't decide whether she's feeling disgusted or heartbroken over Kris's decisions. 

The chill of autumn had begun to settle over Arcadia Bay and a fire burns, low and contained in the fireplace on the opposite wall of the dining room.

His phone buzzes again. Victoria. _don't bail on us!!!_

"Some of your Vortex Club friends?" his father asks.

"Um, yeah."

"Well, don't keep them waiting," he says, dabbing his face with a cloth napkin. "Nathan's making quite the ripple in Blackwell's foremost social club."

"That's wonderful," his mother replies flatly. Her fingers curl around her wine glass. 

"Go on," Sean urges Nathan. 

"He hasn't finished his dinner yet," she counters. 

His fillet of smoked mahi sits half-eaten on his plate next to the few remaining stalks of asparagus. It doesn't taste very good. 

"And what about it? The cook has completely muddled the seasoning, it's inedible. The boy can leave if he wants," he says in an irritated clip. 

His mother frowns into her wine and Nathan slides out from his chair before either of them can say anything more. On his way up the stairs he sends a couple of hasty texts to Hayden and Victoria. _you bums are only looking for a ride._

_yes come pick our asses up!_

He clips the tag off of a new black jacket and checks his hair in the mirror in his closet. On his way out he sees the search engine tab still open on his laptop. _arcadia bay tsunami._ Pushing away his feeling of unease, he closes the tab for good and stuffs his keys into his pocket. 

Downstairs he can still hear his parents muttering at each other. They're both in a poor mood and he doesn't want to press his luck, but he also doesn't want to show up to the Vortex hangout empty-handed now that he's caught on to the nature of their conduct. 

His father's study is dark and empty. He clicks on a little desk lamp and crouches beside the liquor cart. Deciding a handle is too large to smuggle out, he stashes a forty of whiskey into his jacket, holding it in place underneath his arm.

It's already dark outside when Nathan pulls up to the Two Whales diner to pick up Victoria and Hayden. The neon sign lights up the inside of his truck with blue. 

"Fuckin' freeloaders," he says good-naturedly as they climb inside. Victoria leans over from the backseat and plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Hayden takes over the aux cord as usual. 

"Courtney says they just got there," Victoria says, looking at her phone. 

"Now that the Halloween party's back on we gotta celebrate in style," says Hayden.

Nathan parks near the beach and they jump the gate that closes off the trail up to the lighthouse. Victoria's wearing the button-up shirt she borrowed from him. She's left the collar wide open and the sleeves rolled up, tucked into a pair of high-waisted black pants, skin tight and paired provocatively with her slim stilettos. 

"That's a pretty ambitious outfit for the woods," Nathan tells her. 

"Psh. This is only the pregame, we're going out for food afterward. Don't tell me you have a curfew," she teases.

"No way. As long as I'm not out getting arrested my dad doesn't care what I do," he boasts. 

At the top of the lighthouse cliff Zachary, Juliet, Courtney, and Taylor lounge on cinder blocks and fallen logs scrolling on their phones. Logan struggles to light a campfire.

"This flint is trashed, who's got another fucking lighter? Oh good, the stoner's here."

Hayden tosses him a lighter and bends down to inspect the pile of sticks. "Look dumbass, a working lighter isn't gonna help this pathetic excuse for a campfire."

"What are you, a boyscout?"

"Don't hate. I'm a man of many layers."

"Come sit down, you guys," Taylor calls to them. 

"Nathan, that jacket is fucking amazing," Courtney says.

"Quit dicking around with that fire and leave it to the expert, Logan," Taylor interrupts. "Break out the beer."

"I only have two six-packs this time, my bad," Logan says apologetically. 

"Oh, were you guys trying to drink or something?" Nathan says with airy nonchalance. He produces the whiskey and relishes the chorus of _ohhhs_ that follow. 

"Damn dude, way to hook up," says Hayden, coaxing the spark of the orange flame in front of him. "Now _that's_ a fire. And speaking of fire." He pulls out a joint from behind his ear. 

Courtney looks apprehensively at the bottle of liquor. "Does anybody have a chaser?"

"Yeah, beer," Logan chuckles.

"No chasers, we die like men," Victoria exclaims, uncapping the bottle with relish.

Two hours later they pick their way back down to the beach with buzzing heads and empty stomachs. They spill into the road, zeroed in on the pizza restaurant across the way. Victoria wears Nathan's jacket. His mouth feels like it's had cotton stuffing in it and the streetlight wavers in his vision and he sees Zachary's arm around Juliet. A car rolls by them and leans on the horn. "Get outta the street, assholes!" he calls out the window. Nathan and Logan jeer back at the departing tail lights, _fuck you_ and _eat it bitch_ , middle fingers on display. 

Eyes still adjusted to the dim night, the red and yellow neons glare at them as they enter the restaurant and they all collectively lose their shit when Hayden slides on his sunglasses with a waggling eyebrow at the hostess. The look on their server's face indicates that they aren't getting paid enough to deal with drunken teenagers at the end of the night. 

Nathan's phone buzzes and it's from an unknown number. _Hey nate it's kris i'm on my friends phone. do you feel like hanging out tomorrow?_

"Everything okay?" Victoria asks him and he realizes he was making a sour face. 

"It's my sister."

"Are you upset with her?"

"Kind of. She needs help but she won't let me get involved."

By now they've been seated and the others are busy tossing sugar packets at each other so he tells her about the platinum earrings and the will. Elbow propped on the table, she leans her face into her hand and listens with rising indignance on his behalf. "That's so shitty. I can't imagine what I would do if my dad tried to cheat me out of something I'd rightfully inherited. Actually, I _do_ know. I would just take it. What's he going to do? The earrings legally belong to her, it's not like it's stealing."

"Our dad would be furious. Especially because she only wants them for the money."

"So? They're hers, she should be able to do whatever she wants with them."

It's an interesting idea, and before he can put too much thought into it he notices something. 

Across the room there's a flyer posted for the upcoming Autumn Festival held every year. The city closed off the main street and they set up vendor booths and food and music. He remembers going as a kid but it wasn't worth it now that he's older. He feels a rock of unease lodge itself in his throat as he recognizes something on the flyer. 

An orange and yellow striped tent. 

Of course, that's where he'd seen it. The thing was giant and ugly and the city had been using it every year for the festival for the last decade. It's the same tent he remembers seeing in his episode. His dream? He isn't sure what to refer to it as. But he remembers standing on the beach in front of the ocean and turning back to look at the street and seeing that big ugly tent assembled in the street and blocking his vision of the storefronts. 

His heart beats fast and he looks at the flyer to see the date. It's next Sunday.

The day that his father plans to take the yacht for his launch party. 

\--

Nathan wakes with a start, a ragged gasp that he draws in, unbidden. He's fallen asleep with his music playing, his bedroom lit up by the glow of his laptop screen. 

_"Some saint got the job of writing down my sins/ The storm is coming, the storm is coming in."_

The lyrics rattle him further and he stops the song with a panicked slap of the space bar. He shuts his laptop and kicks at the bedspread to get underneath it, trying to shake off the anxiety he feels creeping in on him like a thick cloud. 

He tries to go back to sleep. Tries to think of anything else other than the tendrils of electricity he saw crackled across the black sky. The swell of the ocean rising into a colossal wave. The way the boat had splintered in half like a toothpick. What did it mean?

\--

"How are your stress levels this week?"

"Still pretty high, I guess."

"What sorts of things contribute to your stress?"

"Family stuff, probably."

"Can you elaborate on that?"

Nathan shrugs. "I feel like I'm not good enough."

"We all have inherent worth. And we also have the potential to become the people we want because we have control over our own actions and behaviors."

"But what about things that you can't control?"

"Do you mean the way that other people treat you? Because—"

"No. Things in your head that aren't supposed to be there."

"Well, we may not be able to control all of our thoughts, but we can control our responses to them. We can even train our thinking patterns to stay on a healthier track. Would you say you often experience unwelcome thoughts?"

He chews his thumbnail and tries to choose his words carefully. He takes too long.

"Bad dreams maybe?"

"Um, yeah."

"Are you getting your eight hours in every night?"

Nathan laughs. "Not a chance."

"Have you ever tried a white noise machine?"

"No."

"I recommend you give it a try. There are many studies of the brain that reflect a positive correlation to sleeping with background noise."

"Okay."

"So would you like to talk about what's been going on with your family?"

"Not today."

"That's fine. How about we switch tracks. What things have happened this week that made you feel better? Something that brought you relief or comfort."

"Hanging out with my friends. I haven't always fit in at school, so. This year is better. I joined a club."

"And your friends are in this club?" 

He nods. 

"That's a great reward for putting yourself out there. It's not always easy to socialize with your peers." 

It's his fourth session and he's felt calmer and a bit lighter after most of their conversations. Unfortunately he doesn't seem to have very much luck with his advice and take-away. 

Jacoby says, "Well, it's great to see you start to build some confidence. I can already see the difference in you," and Nathan thinks he's just saying that to be nice.

\--

The noise machine he buys has an array of presets and he sets it up on his nightstand and switches through the options. There's a lot of lame stuff. Jungle sounds, gentle thunderstorms, ocean waves. There's also the enigmas of "country living" and "lost paradise," whatever the fuck those mean. 

One of the presets catches his interest. A low, keening song. All at once elusive and mystifying. Muffled through deep water and saying something profound yet indistinguishable. According to the instruction booklet he's found whale songs, and he figures it's as good as anything else to fall asleep to. 

A jarring commotion sounds from outside his window and he scrambles off of his bed to look. He hears his mother, uncharacteristically emotional. "We'll call the police!"

Through the window he can see a figure in their circular driveway, shaded beneath the trees. He can't make out who it is, but his mother continues to yell and he rushes out of his room and heads down the stairs.

Before he can pull open the front door Sean appears. "Stay inside," he tells him.

His father steps outside and pulls Caroline by her arm. "Let me handle this." 

Nathan doesn't listen and follows him out front. 

The unemployed fisherman from before, more harrowing and grizzled than ever, lingers stubbornly in the driveway shouting obscenities and demanding that "Sean Prescott come outside and show his cowardly face."

"You've got a set of brass ones, I'll say that. You come to my home? You follow me home to my family with this self-entitled bullshit?" Sean spits at the man. 

Nathan watches from the doorway, frozen, and he recognizes the tone that his father uses and he wishes that he could warn the man to leave, that he's treading in dangerous territory and he could hit a landmine at any second. 

"Oh, I'm sorry," the man yells sarcastically, spreading his arms in a challenge, "did I disturb the peace of your multi-million dollar mansion? Well, I've got kids at home, sick and hungry because the richest mogul in town is a fucking swindler and a coward, a piss-poor excuse for a man exploiting the workers and banking off the hard labor of others!"

Sean reaches into his jacket and produces a gun, a large pistol that looks sleek and deadly and Nathan feels his stomach drop out from beneath him at the sight of it. 

He swaggers forward a step and aims it at the begrudged man.

Nathan's protest rips itself from his lungs. "Dad, no! We can just call the cops!"

"Calling the cops won't teach this asshole the lesson he sorely needs."

Palpable fear laces the man's eyes and he puts his hands up and backs up a step.

"You won't shoot me," he says with a tremor in his throat.

"Do you really want to test that fucking theory while trespassing on my private property? I have a right to protect my land and my family."

Nathan swallows a lump and time seems to slow itself to an agonizing crawl. _Please, please don't do it._

"Look, man..." 

"Oh, now you want to be _reasonable_. Funny how that works, isn't it. It's almost like _you're_ the coward now. I don't owe you anything and I suggest you remove yourself from my home before this escalates any further."

Hatred pushes itself from the man's expression. Eyes narrowed and jaw tense. He drops his hands, turns away and retreats, trusting that he won't be injured if he leaves as instructed.

His father turns, smug and basking in triumph. 

"You were really going to shoot that guy?" Nathan croaks, incredulous.

"Of course I wasn't going to shoot him. It was meant to gain power of the situation. If you don't feel you're getting the respect you deserve you've got to take it by force. Do you understand?"

He didn't know his father even owned a gun. The situation had de-escalated instantly. Was it really that easy?

He tells him yes but remains laced with apprehension.

\--

"Wouldn't it be better to hold the party next weekend?" Nathan asks from the doorway of Sean's office.

Sean continues to skim whatever document he has in front of him, a flash of the white page reflecting off the lens of his eyeglasses. "Why do you say that?"

He shrugs, like he's casual. "Supposed to be bad weather." Remembering his father doesn't like it when people hover, he moves to an armchair in front of the desk. 

"The forecast says it'll be clear. It's so dry they're concerned with wildfires." He still doesn't look up.

"But still, it's on the same day as that town festival. There'd be a better turnout if the two weren't coinciding, right?"

Now Sean looks on the verge of amusement. "I can assure you with confidence that our attendees aren't interested in deep-fried dough carts and stacks of hay bales. Our invitations have been sent out weeks ago. What are you really getting at?"

Nathan can't stop thinking about that orange tent. Why would he have imagined such an obscure detail? He hadn't even known that the Autumn Festival landed on the same day as his father's party until he'd seen the flyer. 

"I just...got a bad feeling. Like it was really important that you have the party on a different day."

"Well, we don't reschedule events based on a 'bad feeling,' as I'm sure you would expect." He finishes writing the loopy signature at the bottom of the page and raises his eyebrows at Nathan. "Unless there's something else you're not telling me?" 

Nathan thinks of three excuses to change the subject but says none of them. 

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what's really on your mind. You can tell me."

"I had this dream." Fuck, he's stupid. "About the launch party. Only I was awake. I could see the festival going on in town and a tsunami formed. The yacht was destroyed with everyone on it."

"Just a dream, kid. We don't get tsunamis here."

"I know. But the weird thing is, I didn't know you were using the yacht for the party. And I didn't know the Autumn Festival was on the same day. I didn't find that out until days later."

"Even so. Why don't you talk about it to Jacoby. It's what he's there for."

"You just said I could come to you."

"It's better that he help you sort this out."

"Right. I guess I will."

\--

When Nathan tells Dr. Jacoby about the boat and the storm he gets a generic speech. _Although they may represent what we're feeling anxious about or what's been on our minds as of late, dreams ultimately don't mean anything._

But when Nathan explains that he'd been awake and standing when it had happened and that it actually corresponded with his incident in the library, there is a spark of new interest in Jacoby's eye. 

Later that day Nathan lingers in the guest bedroom beside his father's home office so he can listen through the vent. 

"I was hoping to hear from you today," his father says in his booming voice. "How's our boy?"

"Frankly, Mr. Prescott, I'm beginning to feel a bit concerned," Jacoby says over the speakerphone. 

"Give it to me straight, doc. We've got a history of crazies in the family and I assure you we're quite prepared."

"I really wouldn't recommend using such a harmful term. Mental illness is—"

"Ye-ye-yeah, you've earned your daily points for political correctness, just get on with it."

Jacoby clears his throat. "Nathan certainly struggles with feelings of anger that we've been addressing during our sessions, but what's troubling is this recent hallucination. I'm not convinced it's stress-related. He told me it was your idea for him to come to me with this and I have to say it was the right thing to do. Is this the first time he's experienced something of this nature?"

Nathan leans closer to the vent.

"As far as I'm aware. Isn't that something you ought to be asking him?"

"I have. And this isn't normally the sort of question that I would seek a follow-up response for from a parent, but Nathan has turned out to be a rather special case and to be perfectly honest I don't believe that he tells me the whole truth. 

"What teenager does?" The desk chair squeaks and a drawer bangs shut.

"I think Nathan may benefit from medication if these outbursts persist. I don't want to rush forward prematurely, so I would ask you to just keep an eye on his behavior over the next few weeks. I'll continue to monitor his progress in our sessions, of course, and then we can decide where to go from there."

They end the call. Nathan hears the office phone clatter back into its base and he unclenches his fist when he realizes he's dug half-moons into his palm. 

\--

He finds the earrings in the back of his father's closet, on the shelf above his leather shoes. He can smell the cedar shoe trees Sean stuffs inside of his shoes to help them retain their shape as he rummages through the box and spots the earrings in a velvet-lined jewelry case beside an old expensive watch and an engraved lighter that looks it had been through World War II with _H.A.P._ engraved into it. He can't believe his luck; if they had been in the safe deposit box he'd have been screwed. 

The earrings are platinum with brilliant blue stones and he can't imagine Kristine wearing them in a million years. Vintage and near-perfect condition, she could take these into many an upscale jewelry store—not just a pawn shop—and leave with an obscene sum. 

For once Nathan has a chance to be useful to his older sister. He imagines her face when she opens the box. What she'll say. _This is amazing, I thought I'd never get them!_

The door opens. 

He hears his father's voice and his heart stops.

"—Out of the blue, he was completely on board when he spoke to the shareholders."

Nathan sucks in his breath and burrows himself behind the suit jackets, knowing full well his legs are visible and it'll only take a glance to discern that somebody's back there. 

Sean breezes into the closet with his cell phone clamped against his ear. "Keep him there, order another round of brandy. No, keep him there, I'll be there in seven minutes." He yanks a jacket off of its hanger. Brooks Brothers. Light gray. _Country club jacket,_ Nathan thinks. 

Sean's footsteps retreat and he continues to bark orders into his phone. 

He lets out a gust of air all at once and loosens his white-knuckled grip on the jewelry case. He honestly doesn't know what Sean would do if he found him sneaking in the closet and he doesn't want to stay and find out. 

\-- 

On Friday there's a Vortex kickback planned at Juliet Watson's house on account of her parents having left town for a wedding. They all wanted one more hangout before the chaos of the Halloween party. It was more Victoria's idea than anyone else's; she made it clear she preferred their exclusive gatherings rather than the all-inclusive parties they were required to throw to qualify as a Blackwell social club. 

Nathan is looking up the weather forecast for the weekend when a text from Hayden buzzes his phone. _Yo caliban, gotta pick up the party favors n my ride flaked out. You down for a drive?_

He texts back, _yeah but i gotta meet my sister at 4_ and glances back to the screen. Sunday, it says, clear skies. Less than ten percent chance of rain. This is the third website he's checked and they all say the same thing and he's dismayed to find his father correct. 

He shuts the laptop. Hayden texts back a thumbs up, a green leaf, a flame, and a cloud of smoke. 

It's probably safer that he give Kristine the earrings somewhere else in the rare chance that their father takes off work early so he'd asked her to meet him at Two Whales. It's been hell trying to keep in contact while her number is deactivated. One of the things she'll be able to rectify, hopefully. 

When he gets to Hayden's house he idles out front and Hayden climbs into his passenger seat with a low whistle. "I'll never get tired of cruising around in this beauty. What kinda gas mileage you get with this thing?"

"Shitty." Nathan pulls away from the curb. "Look at the size of it. You don't buy a truck like this in order to save on gas."

Hayden inspects his face in the mirror. "Damn. Guess the first round didn't take." He reaches into his pocket for a bottle of eyedrops, carefully measuring them out at a red light. "Pass over that aux cord, man."

"Where are we headed?"

"Down by Glen Point. You know it?"

"Yeah, that's pretty fucking far."

"I know. My bad. It's ridiculous that he's making me come this far out. The dude has an RV, but he says he's not making house calls for another couple weeks 'cause of some bad deal he was involved in. Some asshole in town he's trying to avoid for a while."

"Sounds sketch."

"Eh, he plays himself up but it's mostly for show. He's cool. Don't worry though, we'll make it back before four." He drums his fingers against the seat. "So your sister, huh? You've never mentioned her."

"She's not around much. She took off a couple months ago."

"You should invite her to the thing tonight."

"No way. She doesn't want to hang out with high-schoolers."

"Even really cool ones?"

"Oh, is someone else coming tonight?"

"I know you're being a smartass, but there _is_ somebody coming tonight. Two somebodies, as a matter of fact."

"Is that so."

"Juliet's bringing her hot cousin Skylar. And _she's_ bringing her hot friend. Remember them from last weekend? They go to St. Mary's."

He doesn't remember.

"I am tryna _hit_ that tonight, let me just say. She was all over me last time, I think I've got a good shot. You ought to spend some time with her friend. You might get lucky." He slides his gaze over to Nathan.

"Unless you'll be kicking it with Victoria..."

"Not like that," he clarifies.

"You sure? You two seem awful cozy lately."

"She's cool. She's hot and all, but she's not my type."

Hayden laughs. "Bold and bitchy don't do it for you, so what is your type? Demure good-girl types? _Oh, Nathan_ ," he exclaims in falsetto, clutching at him. 

"Get off, you dumbass." He punches at Hayden's arm but he's grinning and they turn up the stereo and Nathan can almost forget about what he saw, forget his fear that there's something wrong with him or that something bad might happen in two days.

They drive past town through the thick stretch of woods. Miles of power lines, rest stop pull-offs, pine trees, and wooden fences. 

Hayden gives him directions once they approach the exit. The RV is parked behind an apartment complex—a clump of run-down beige buildings nestled parallel to the highway. The RV is parked behind the basketball court and when Hayden raps lightly on the door a dog begins to bark wildly from inside.

"Relax," Hayden says after he sees the look on Nathan's face. "It's just a pup."

The man who answers the door wears a plaid shirt, looking like he just woke up, bleary-eyed with dark blond hair sticking up in the back. He introduces himself as Frank. Nathan's pretty sure he's heard the name floating around at Blackwell. His dog runs circles around their ankles. "Pompadou, sit." 

Dropping heavily into a computer chair, Frank motions for the two of them to sit. His feet are bare and his knees poke out from the rips in his jeans. Hayden takes the chair opposite and Nathan pulls up a plastic milk crate he finds beside the dog bowl. Two jars of bud are lined up on the computer desk next to an electronic scale. 

"Got yourselves a little shindig, huh." He uncaps the jar and measures it out on the scale.

"For sure," says Hayden. "Just a warm up for Halloween, it's always so dead in this town."

"That's what I count on. Bored people do more drugs," Frank says as he dumps the contents of the scale into a baggie. 

Nathan glances around. How do people live like this? He keeps his face blank as he surveys the crusty dishes in the sink, the various collections of empty beer bottles, and the cigarette butts that are scattered underneath the driver's seat. 

Frank catches him looking. "Prescott, did you say? I've never seen you around."

"He's our newest recruit," supplies Hayden. 

"I go to Blackwell with Hayden."

"Are you trying to pick up, too?" Frank asks. 

"No. I'm just the chauffeur."

He smirks like he said something funny and reaches into a cabinet. The bubbler he pulls out is clear glass. The water's yellow and there's a metal attachment on the end that Nathan doesn't recognize. "I've got a decent batch of shatter in."

"Oh, _hell_ yes." Hayden leans forward. "Don't mind if I do."

Frank lights the end of the metal with a torch lighter while Hayden readies another metal instrument with an amber-colored glob. Hayden releases an obscene amount of smoke once he melts the glob against the red-hot attachment. "That hits like a truck." He clutches his chest and passes back the bubbler. "You really can't beat that taste. Add a half G of that to my bill."

"Speaking of."

"Yeah, yeah," Hayden says, coughing and reaching in his back pocket for his wallet.

Frank loads up the little metal stick again and looks at Nathan, but it's an afterthought. "Did you want a dab?"

"I'm good," he declines. He has no idea how it might impact his ability to drive. 

Frank measures out another slab of the shatter and folds it into wax paper. "Now don't waste this by sprinkling it into a blunt or some shit. You got the rig attachments?" 

"I got it covered."

When Hayden passes over the cash Frank fans out the bills with lightning-quick accuracy, looking pissed.

"Come on. Seriously, man?"

"I'm good for it. Swear. I'll get the rest by Thursday," Hayden insists.

Frank still looks pissed. He scratches his goatee, contemplating. "You _better_ come through." He writes something in a black notebook. 

"Cooould I still get those mollies, though?"

Nathan shoots him a glare. Is it really a good idea to push the line with this guy?

"Come on, it's a party," Hayden appeals to Frank. "We've got ladies we're trying to impress."

Frank mutters something indistinctly under his breath and gives Hayden the capsules he's after, much to Nathan's surprise.

Hayden gives him a triumphant grin as if to say _I told you so_.

Ten minutes later Nathan's glad to be out of there. There's already a smear of dirt on one of his shoes from when the dog ran across their feet. 

"Alright, I'm impressed you got away with that." 

They climb into the truck. "What'd I say? All bark. And now we've got our party supplies. Hey, I'm dying of thirst. Do we have time to stop on the way back?"

Twenty minutes later Nathan checks his phone at a red light. He's had a missed text from a number he doesn't recognize. _hey it's kris i can't meet at 4. coming by the house now instead._

"Shit." He texts the number back to tell her not to come over.

"You cool?" Hayden asks.

"Yeah. My plans got moved up, though."

"Do what you have to, I'll see you at the party tonight."

He speeds all the way to Hayden's house to drop him off. Nathan's phone buzzes with another text. _Kris left._

Wonderful. This has the potential to go catastrophically wrong and he breaks three more traffic laws in his haste to get home. He tells himself he's overreacting but when he finally pulls into the circular driveway he can hear shouting through his open windows. Screaming. Not bothering to turn off the truck or shut the door behind him, he trips on the way out and bounds up the front steps. 

Once when Nathan was nine, one of his father's employees had broken the non-disclosure agreement and let slip some incriminating details about the Prescott Foundation conspiring with a big oil company to put an Arcadia Bay factory out of business. The Foundation had grounds to sue the man, but the negative press that was heaped upon the Prescott name was irreparable. 

_That_ was the angriest Nathan had ever seen him in his life, but now, finding him in the hallway off the foyer in a standoff with his sister, this could easily take first place.

Sean had risen up to his full height, his stance rigid and foreboding. Kris is tall, taller than Nathan even, and she had dug her heels in, staring straight into his eyes in defiance. Tension crackles around them and Nathan fears the spark that will set them off. 

"That you would steal from your own _family_ —"

"I didn't steal anything!" she insists.   
The line of his jaw tenses. "It's the whole reason you're here! You came back sniffing around after them and now they've magically vanished from my things." He's bellowing and Nathan can't believe Kris isn't flinching. 

So he'd already noticed the earrings were missing, apparently more observant than Nathan gave him credit for. Sean's expression is fierce and before he takes a step toward Kris, Nathan jumps forward.

"She didn't take them, it was me! I snuck into your closet and took them, she had no idea."

This only pushes him further and he throws his hand up for Nathan to stop. "Don't test me right now, you think I'm a fucking idiot? You're not covering for her so don't even try it."

Why was he so stupid, why did he have to surprise Kris with them, why couldn't he have just told her what was going on? This is all his fault and he has to find the right thing to fix it.

"Kris had no idea, I swear," Nathan pleads.

"Do not. _Whine_ at me."

"This is ridiculous—" Kris starts and he whirls on her.

"It is. It's ridiculous that after everything this family has done for you you would pull some bullshit like this."

Kris laughs, incredulous. "You keep going on about family like it's so precious to you, like you don't push us all around and bully us into behaving the way you want." She steps closer. "You care more about how we look from the outside than if we're actually happy or healthy. You're a _shit_ father—"

"Kris, stop, please." 

She brushes him off. 

"—And it's why I left! You're the reason why everybody in this family is so fucked up. You'll end up alone and you can _rot in hell_ for all I care!" 

Her voice echoes in the hall and Sean lunges forward, reaching for her, his features contorted in fury. He grabs her shoulders like he's trying to snap her half, to silence her, and it all happens so fast. His fingers dig into her. They grapple, only for a split second before he gives her a vicious shake and throws her backwards, away from him. 

Nathan isn't quick enough. She flies back, arms outstretched, with nothing to break her fall and he can only watch in horror. 

Her head hits the marble and it's the worst sound he's ever heard in his life. 

A resounding crack. Bone splitting and wet. 

It's the sound he knows will chase him through every nightmare yet to come, something he'll never be able to get away from. 

She's not moving and it's his fault. _Make it stop make it stop this isn't happening_. He can't even look at Sean, all he sees is Kristine's thin frame sprawled on the marble with a sickening splotch of blood underneath her head. 

_Stop stop stop_. His eyes are pinched close and when he hears a rushing wind beside his ears he opens them and she's in the air again. Falling back. No—falling forward. 

Nathan's hand is reaching out and everything moves in reverse. Kris upright, Sean grasping her shoulders. Yelling. Their speech garbled. He doesn't understand and suddenly he releases his hand and a gasp rakes his chest as the conversation is started all over again.

"It's ridiculous that after everything this family has done for you you would pull some bullshit like this," Sean says. 

Kris laughs again, just like she did before. Mocking him. 

How is this happening? Did he do this? He's frozen in place as Kris unleashes on Sean all over again. 

"And it's why I left! You're the reason why everybody in this family is so fucked up."

His heart leaps as he realizes Sean will shove her again. That noise. He couldn't hear that noise again and without thinking he reaches out and grips the air.

Grips time. 

Sean and Kris are suspended, unmoving. Furious expressions. He concentrates on moving backwards. Could he really change this? 

He's back at the beginning of the argument and he needs something to halt them in their tracks. He'd tried talking to them but it was clear they were too worked up. 

The earrings. 

He races outside where his truck is still idling. The driver side door hangs open and he scrambles into it, throwing open the glove compartment where he'd stashed the jewelry case. Please don't let it be too late. 

"Stop!" His voice bounces off the walls as he runs to them. "Look, here they are. Right here. She didn't take them. I did."

Sean stops yelling and his eyes snap to the earrings.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gone into your closet, I'll never do it again. Kris didn't ask me to, I was trying to help her," he babbles and he realizes there are tears on his face. 

Her eyes widen. "Nate—"

"How dare you."

"Don't fucking touch him!" Kris pulls Nathan out of the way. Her hands shake. "I'll get the cops here so fast, don't think I won't. Don't you touch him."

"You," Sean says, pointing a finger at her. His voice is so low they can barely hear him. "Get out of my house. Get out." He turns to Nathan. "Give them to me."

He pushes the jewelry case into Sean's hands and stumbles back. 

"If you ever steal from me again," he starts.

"I won't, I swear I won't," Nathan insists.

With the earrings in hand Sean is calmer and Nathan allows Kris to usher him to the front door, pulling him out of harm's way and into the cool air. 

"Drive," she whispers. "Just drive. Quick."

He doesn't remember getting behind the wheel but he presses the gas, wheels skidding as they lurch out of the driveway. They don't get very far; he clips a curb and immediately pulls over before he kills them both, raking in a harsh breath.

"Are you okay? You're so pale. You're shaking."

He sputters a laugh that holds no humor. Is _he_ okay? Kris was the one with a cracked skull five minutes ago. 

"You look like you're in shock. It's okay. Here, just turn the car off for now."

Nathan swipes at the wetness on his face and catches a glimpse of himself in the side mirror through the open window. Lips white as chalk.

"I can't believe you did that. Why didn't you tell me what was going on?"

Because I'm an idiot, he thinks. 

"I just wanted to help."

She takes his hand, squeezing it as if she can force the life back into him. "I told you, I don't need you to get me money. So what if I need to save up for a year before I can keep traveling? I'll make it work. It's not worth the risk of you getting in trouble with that fucking tyrant. Promise me you won't try anything like this again."

He nods, numb. 

He had changed time. Just lifted up his hand and did it. Is it another hallucination? Did he imagine Kristine getting hurt and rush outside before it escalated? It didn't make sense that he would have imagined their argument verbatim before it happened. And that sound. The sound of Kristine's head against the marble that would haunt him until the day he died. He could never have imagined that himself. 

Maybe Sean is right. Maybe he's crazy. Sick. 

\--

Kristine doesn't stick around afterward. She leaves town, and recommends Nathan steers clear of the house for the night. 

He's supposed to be at that party tonight. He's already gotten texts from Hayden, Victoria, and Juliet wondering where he is.

His nerves are shot and he's not exactly in the mood to party, but he wants to see Victoria and feels like he could use a drink. He drives to Juliet's house. There are at least a dozen cars parked on the street. The sky behind her house is dark, but the sky to the west is lit up in a violent orange as the sun sets. Crickets chirp and he hears faint music coming from inside. 

He checks his mirror. He looks shitty, but not quite as pale as before. At least his hands have stopped shaking. He has no idea how he's going to pull off acting normally. 

He can't stop thinking about what he did and decides to experiment. Raising a hand, he tries to...what? Grab ahold of time? He feels a tremor and the rushing in his ears is back and he watches with horror as the clock on his dashboard changes from 7:32 to 7:29 before he drops his hand like he's been scalded, breath wavering. 

This is bullshit. He climbs down from the truck. Slams the door with more force than necessary, trying to slam a door in his mind as well.

It's clear that word has spread; there are more people than they'd expected inside. The music pulses and people cluster throughout the living and dining room. Juliet's taken some time to dim the lights and replace them with colored bulbs so they're all bathed in purple.

Victoria's sitting on an easy recliner and her face splits into a grin when she sees him approaching. She asks where he's been and will someone get him a drink already? There's no more seats so she offers him hers and perches on the arm of the chair next to him. 

Based on the loose body language and the rowdiness with which they all speak, he can guess they've been drinking for a while already. Through the archway to the dining room Nathan sees red cups lined up for beer pong and Hayden standing with two girls he doesn't recognize.

"—get any of them?" Victoria asks.

"What?"

"I said, I texted you like four times, didn't you see?"

"Sorry, I got distracted."

"Did you bring the vodka?" Taylor asks from the sofa. 

"No, I couldn't grab it."

"That's no problem, there's rum and beer in the kitchen, and Courtney's bringing wine," Victoria says. Glass breaks in the dining room and Juliet flies up from the sofa to investigate. In search of something to drink, Nathan gets up and squeezes his way into the kitchen. He doesn't realize Victoria's followed him until she says something behind him and he jumps.

"What's up with you?" she asks, eyebrows scrunched in concern. 

He cracks open a beer from the fridge. "My day is super shitty." 

"Your dad again?" she guesses correctly.

He scrubs at his face. "God. Is it that obvious?" 

"Not to anyone else but me." She puts a new splash of rum into her red cup. "Give 'em a few more rounds and they probably won't even be able to tell you whose house we're in. So what happened?"

"He went full fucking psycho on my sister today. Yelling in her face...grabbing her. Couldn't get ahold of himself."

"Fuck."

"I ended up giving back the earrings 'cause he thought she was the one who took them. That plan definitely backfired. I don't know what I was thinking. He was angrier than I've ever seen him. He's got this twisted sense of like family loyalty or some shit so he just lost it."

"What an assfuck."

"The noise in here is just—my bad, I need a second."

"Here, let's go out back." She puts an extra bottle of beer under her arm and they push open the back door, a rush of night air greeting them. He breathes it in. 

"You didn't have to come tonight," she assures him as he pulls deeply from his beer.

"I can't go home. And everyone I know is here. I guess I could use the distraction." Nathan shrugs.

"Well, I've got that covered for sure. Hayden gave me this." 

Victoria reaches into her bra for a joint, neatly twisted on the end. He forces a laugh and makes a joke about keeping it classy. 

She lifts her shoulders. "Until they start making girls' clothes with actual pockets, we're forced to get creative." 

He knocks back his beer in record time and she hands him the next one, lighting the joint afterward. The smoke makes him cough and he's already buzzed. Soon they go back inside and everything's moving faster than he expected. 

Courtney brings the wine and a group of them start playing a drinking game that quickly dissolves into laughter and Victoria and Taylor dancing on top of the coffee table for a brief spell. Camera flashes in the dark. He drinks to wet his dry throat and ignores how he has to brace himself against the wall when he stands up. 

Words tumble past Nathan's lips and he's barely paying attention to what they are, but he's making everybody laugh and it's so worth it to be able to forget.

The girls from the Catholic school have coke, and they're lining it up on the table but Hayden grabs his attention away and says he's got something better.

Hayden passes a molly over to each of the Vortex members and Nathan spends the next thirty-five minutes scoffing and bragging about how he can't even feel it and what was the big deal but when it finally bursts inside him like a warm hearthfire he can feel the music suddenly and everything is fucking soaring and of _course_ everything is going to be alright because he has these amazing fucking people. 

Their pupils are as round as coins. Were his? Everything soft and lovely, floating gently in the lights. Swirling, contented. Like magic. 

\--

In bed, he can't sleep. The MDMA races through him like blood pumping and his eyes are peeled open. He thinks he'll never sleep again.

He watches the clock on his laptop. Raises one hand. Feels the control in the tips of his fingers. His vision shakes but nothing happens. Time stays put. 

He tries again and is met with a stabbing pain in his head. 

Whatever was there is gone now.

His face feels wet. When he touches it and pulls back his hand he can see blood from his nose in the blue light of his laptop.

\--

On Saturday he doesn't try again. Doesn't even think about it if he can help it.

Instead he's focused on the Pan Estates launch party. There's nothing he can say to make Sean call it off. He thinks about starting a small fire or crashing his truck, something juvenile and destructive enough to _make_ his parents pay attention to him. 

That won't work, though. He'll land himself in hot water but that won't stop the party. He needs to do something that physically stops them from going out on the water. Straight to the source, the boat itself. He could do something to the engine so it wouldn't run anymore. It would be dangerous; he can't even remember the last time he was down at the harbor. He absolutely can't be caught. What he needs is a lookout. 

He sends a text to Victoria and a rush of nausea pinches his stomach. His hangover is vicious and he goes downstairs to make himself some toast. 

She responds. _How are you even conscious right now? I already puked like three times._

_I need to get back at my dad for kristine._

It's a lie, but it's easier than explaining his premonition. He sends another text, _but i need help. it's risky tho. u in?_

_def but first I need some hangover food, it's too early_

\--

Victoria sits across from him at the booth at Two Whales and crunches an antacid between her teeth, wincing at the jukebox. Her concealer isn't quite doing the trick and he can see dark spots beneath her eyes.

"Your plan sounds a little half-baked. You're going to sneak onto your dad's boat and sabotage the engine? How, exactly?"

He shrugs. "Hit it with a wrench a bunch of times?"

She shakes her head. "Do you even know anything about boats?"

"Not really."

"You need someone who knows what they're doing, who's familiar with an engine."

Their server set two mugs of coffee down in front of them, steam swirling upward.

"And that would be...you?"

"Ha. No, my skillset doesn't lean toward the mechanical any more than yours does," she says. "I know somebody that might be able to help us, though. Fuck, that's hot. I just burned my tongue." 

"Who?"

"Some guy. Worked at the docks all last summer. Tried to get me to sleep with him." She tries to take another sip and gives up, setting down her mug. "Do you have any cash?"

He thinks of his birthday money, still in its envelope and stashed in his truck where he didn't have to think about it. "Yeah."

"Good. This guy won't work for free and I'm not really in the mood to trade sexual favors today."

He says, "Damn, there goes my afternoon plans," and she smiles.

\--

"So what, you want me to just swipe a spark plug or something?"

"We need you to do something that can't be fixed within a few hours. Nothing permanent, but bad enough for it to require a mechanic," Victoria says. 

Benji is the guy's name. His hair is long, down to his shoulders and flattened under a beanie. The strings of his hoodie look crusty, and he has a pretty-boy face with pouting lips. He had seemed apprehensive at first when Victoria immediately asked him for a favor, but once Nathan showed him five hundred in cash he warmed up quickly.

"Yeah, alright. I can figure something out," Benji says. 

"I need more than 'figure something out,'" Victoria says. "Do you know what you're doing or not?"

"Relax, babe, I got it under control. I know just what to do."

Nathan rolls his eyes. 

"You better. If you screw this up you can bet I'll be coming after you for that cash," she threatens.

Benji gives her a sleazy smirk. "Noted."

Nathan passes him some of the bills. "Half now, half when it's done."

Benji pockets the cash and turns his attention back to Victoria. "So when're you and I gonna do something? My friend's playing at this bar tomorrow night. You should check it out."

"Totally, that sounds cool," she says, smiling. Her words have an air of falseness to them and Nathan wonders why this guy can't hear it. 

"Well, great," says Nathan, pushing off of the wall. "We've got to get going."

\--

On Sunday he sees his mother pad down the hallway past his bedroom, phone pressed against her ear.

"Sean?" she calls. 

Nathan leans out of of his doorway. 

She's in her bathrobe, hair up in an elegant twist and only half of her makeup finished. 

"What."

"There's something wrong. I've got the rental company on the phone now." She steps fully into his office where Nathan can't hear them. He's already dressed, but it was only for show. If everything went according to plan there would be no party.

Two minutes pass and their voices rise in irritation. 

"—How the hell should I know? I had this taken care of weeks ago."

"Well, I've got a team of caterers that we're now _paying_ to stand around on the dock while you get this sorted out."

"Give me a goddamn minute, it's still ringing—Yes, hello? Sean Prescott here, there's been a colossal fuck-up and I want to know who's responsible." 

His mother walks past and he stops her. "What's going on?" He feigns innocence.

"I'm not sure. Something with the yacht." She frowns. "Your father's handling it. Make sure you're ready to go." She breezes away in a faint cloud of perfume.

Victoria texts him soon after. _How's it going???_

_i think it's working_

_Good I thought I was gonna have to kick benjis ass_

_would've been fun to watch ngl_

_;)_

He works on his homework to kill time, taking care not to let his clothes wrinkle as he sits at the desk in his room. Half an hour later his mother calls to him. 

"Are you riding with us or taking your own car?" 

His stomach drops.

He hurries down the hall to her room where she's putting on the final touches in her vanity mirror. "Everything's still on?"

Her eyes flick to his in the mirror. "Yes, of course. The yacht's having engine problems again, despite all the money we paid to have it fixed."

"Well, if we can't take the yacht out shouldn't we direct everybody to come here or something?"

"Don't be ridiculous. We planned this event with a specific vision in mind. The lights and decorations were chosen for the boat. You should know better than to think we can just up and change venues at the last second! Really, Nathan." She fixes her earrings. "The yacht will remain in the harbor for the evening. Your father isn't happy about it but it's better than nothing."

His mind races. He supposes that _is_ better than nothing. With the boat docked they would at least have a chance to get to shore in time. The image of the boat splintering against the side of the cliff hovers in his mind.

"Are you riding with us?"

His father is only going to complain the whole ride over. "I'll drive myself."

\--

The press is there, of course. Nathan's had plenty of practice posing as a happy family for the cameras. The flash pops in his face.

The deck is lit up just like in his vision. Too many people approach him and he has to pretend that he remembers who they are. Fuck, he wishes he'd brought Victoria. He keeps an eye on the sky—partly cloudy. He can see the striped orange tent over the tops of the trees in the direction of the town. 

He wanders over to the food, but it's an assortment of complicated bite-sized ingredients that no one could name, sacrificing taste for presentation. The fake laughter presses in on him and he knows he looks neurotic for looking up at the clouds every three minutes.

Sean makes a speech that is somehow equal parts placating and condescension. He makes a joke in bad taste and they all laugh anyway. Measured clapping and a chorus of _ahhs_ when he flips the sheet off of a perfect miniature model of luxury condos he's aspired to build in Arcadia Bay. 

When the sky darkens with black clouds, nobody notices but Nathan. Everyone's three drinks deep and dazzled by the warmth of the dozens of lights strung up. He smells rain and he knows it's coming. 

\--

It moves fast.

Faster than he could have ever imagined. One minute he's sneaking a glass of champagne and the next there is a cry of alarm as the wind slices through them, whipping the tablecloths. At least nine women reach up to hold their hair in place.

Scattered laughter, and _where did that come from?_ and _wow, that's some weather_.

A crack of thunder and the guests begin to look apprehensively at the sky. A ripple of suggestion moves through the crowd that it's time to leave.

Sean moves to the microphone. "Looks like we might have to wrap this up early, folks." He rattles off an endearment for Pan Estates and thanks them for coming out to celebrate. Nathan catches a glare his father shoots in his direction that suggests he climbed up there himself to stuff the clouds with rain. 

Before the first guest can even reach the dock, a torrent of rain unleashes on them. The staff rushes to start packing everything up. He wonders if they're doing the same thing at the festival. 

His mother touches his elbow lightly. "Drive safely," she instructs.

His father still glares. 

\--

The tsunami is plastered over every new station for the next thirty-six hours. Meteorologists are baffled. The damage is minor, and Nathan can't tell if he's relieved or freaked out that it actually happened like in his vision. 

Why the fuck did he see that before it happened? Did it correspond with his rewinding incident? 

He thinks of Sean, white lips and ashen-faced, watching the news coverage. Thinking, _what if that had been us out there in the bay?_

Sean calls Dr. Jacoby the very next day after the launch party. Nathan can hear from the hallway and can't muster any sort of reaction. 

"I'm calling about Nathan." A pause as he waits for a response. "I'd like you to go ahead with the prescription. He's much more troubled than Caroline or I realized and we can't risk any more disturbances in school...Yes. Thank you. I'll email you shortly."

Nathan walks back to his bedroom. Looks at his bedside clock. 10:18.

He raises a hand and tries to take hold like he did before.

A twitch. Just enough for him to know it's there. 

Dormant.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> So this follows an AU headcanon that the storms are actually a push-back to the emerging powers in Nathan and Max, rather than a result of them trying to change something drastic.


End file.
